


Just Like Potions

by vivi1138



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bad Cooking, Don't add to Goodreads, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Fluff, HP Fluff Fest 2020, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Humor, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24948361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivi1138/pseuds/vivi1138
Summary: Kreacher is on holidays. Draco thinks he can cook because he’s so good at Potions. Hint: he can’t.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 16
Kudos: 150
Collections: HP Fluff Fest 2020





	Just Like Potions

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the amazing [WaveMaker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaveMaker/pseuds/WaveMaker)
> 
> Prompt by CorinaLannister: Cooking! A couple cooks dinner together. One person thinks that they know it all but does not know how to cook at all. The end result might end up as a food fight or ordering takeaway because the food is not viable to eat.

Draco often thought he could write a book about Potter’s infuriating habits and turn it into an instant best-seller. It’d read like a scientific paper, mainly because Potter’s brain came up with genuinely baffling ideas that no one in their right mind could understand. Even Granger couldn’t. To start with, Harry arranged the few books he possessed in the wrong order; he didn’t group them by author or genre like any sane person, or throw them on the shelf in messy piles like Draco, no; he lined them up in reverse-alphabetical order. Timothy Zahn should not be first, no matter how much Draco enjoyed his stories. Harry also had a hard time throwing away chipped ceramics, bought low-quality spoons that hurt Draco’s lips, and stocked up on those ridiculous 2-in-1 soap/shampoo bottles For Men (all right, they smelled amazing, but _still_ ). He was also like a magpie collecting shiny objects: there was a display case in his living room with old trinkets that Draco had once seen on Dumbledore’s desk. But his most annoying trait, the one Draco would never understand, was sending Kreacher on holidays twice a year, likely seeking the Granger Seal of Approval. Draco knew it’d be a heated topic when he moved in, but he had given up arguing about it.

He was reminded of Kreacher’s absence when his stomach let out a loud and undignified growl as he was sprawled on the couch, enjoying Harry’s fingers toying with his hair. He sighed and squirmed, then met Harry’s amused gaze and rolled his eyes. “Yes, Potty, I’m starving.”

“Take-out?”

Draco sneered and sat up. “It’s never as good as a home-cooked meal.” He didn’t care if he sounded a bit whiny.

After smoothing his wrinkled trousers, Harry started biting his nails. Draco gave him a gentle slap to make him stop and Harry blew him a raspberry in return. Then Harry stood up. “I can make pasta. There’s cheese, but no tomatoes.”

“We had carbonara yesterday.”

“Yes, but it wasn’t home-made.”

It was childish, but Draco stood his ground. “I don’t want pasta. Or rice.”

“Too bad, I don’t know how to make anything else, and don’t say a roast.”

Draco liked to push and tease; a flustered Harry was a _cute_ Harry, after all. But Draco excelled at reading his body language. He might not know everything about Harry’s childhood, but he suspected Harry’s refusal to cook certain dishes had its roots firmly planted in these memories. From what he’d heard, the Dursleys hated everything out of the ordinary, which must’ve extended to food. Draco believed they might have had a limited range of meals they deemed acceptable. He’d be sick of roasts too if he’d spend years preparing them for a bunch of ungrateful, despicable human beings. “I wasn’t going to suggest that,” he said, getting rid of the whine in his voice. “What about cooking something together?”

Harry’s entire face lit up and made Draco’s empty stomach twist pleasantly. “You’d do that with me?”

His lips curled as he replied, “Well, how hard can it be, really?” in a lazy drawl. And it was true, wasn’t it? Draco’s talent lay in potions, and he’d always imagined that cooking had to work the same way.

He let Harry drag him into the kitchen, bitten nails scratchy against the sensitive skin of Draco’s wrist. The fridge was thrown open, Harry bent down to look at its shelves, and Draco couldn’t resist pinching his arse cheek. Harry didn’t even react, the git. Maybe Draco did this too often. He blamed that delicious, muscled backside for his occasional slips into childish pestering.

“So,” Harry declared with that wry grin Draco loved so much, “Bacon, eggs, milk. We can make an omelette.”

No way. Draco scoffed at the mere idea. “What on earth makes you think I’d want that?”

“You’re such a snobby twit.” The fridge slammed shut, and Harry leaned on the counter. “Go ahead, what do you want, Your Majesty?”

“Well, what about a quiche?” How hard could that be?

Harry frowned, lost in thoughts, likely trying to figure out how to make one or what it was. One could never underestimate the depth of someone’s ignorance when it came to foreign cuisine. “Okay, what’s the dough like?” he asked. Not a lack of knowledge, then.

“Crumbly,” Draco said.

“So, not puff pastry then. _Accio_ cookbook.” _Tasty Cuisine: The Essentials_ flew through the room, and Harry caught it with a loud clap, opened it, and checked the table of contents. “Think it’s shortcrust pastry?”

Draco had no clue, but wouldn’t admit it out loud. “Yes. Probably.” He stared at the pictures. “Let’s go with that. _Accio_ flour.” Instant regret. “Who in Merlin’s name doesn’t reseal a pack of flour, Potter?!” he sputtered, shaking his head and rubbing his hair and face. He heard Harry failing to contain his laughter and as horrible as it felt to have flour up his nose, he conceded the reality of the situation: it was pretty funny.

“If you’d just grabbed it with your hands like a normal person—no, don’t do that!” Harry snatched his wand away, and Draco blinked, confused, eyelashes still white. “Human magic gives a nasty taste to everything. Let’s cook, and when we’re done, we can clean you up.” Draco sneezed and groaned, ready to spend the next hour in a cloud of white dust. Harry gave him a bowl and beamed at him. “Since you’re already dirty, here’s the butter.”

“Do you have a—a tool to mix it?”

Harry pointed at the book. “This says to use your hands.”

Absurd! Potions never required to touch the mixture, how idiotic! “I’m not doing that.”

“Do you want a quiche or not? If you’re not comfortable making one—”

Draco’s lips formed a pout. “No, I can do it.” He’d make the best damn quiche in the whole world and Harry would never see it coming. That’d teach him to doubt Draco’s abilities. “Just read the recipe to me.”

Harry did, and Draco got to work. It was so sticky, buttery, messy, just no fun at all. The butter melted too quickly on his skin; there was no crumbling happening. He thought there had to be a mistake in the book, so in the end, he rolled it into a ball and considered it done. Harry nodded, still excited for some reason, then asked Draco what was in a quiche, so Draco took some time to think. Having tasted more than his fair share of quiches in his life (he’d had a phase, okay?), he felt quite confident. The filling had to be at least a little liquidy. Milk would come in handy. He didn’t see any other ingredient that would make sense. So, he picked the milk and poured it all into a large glass bowl. “We need bacon,” he added as an afterthought, and Harry agreed and started cutting the meat in uneven cubes.

Now, what to do with this milk? What could give it some texture? He mentally reviewed what he knew. Cheese would be nice, but it wouldn’t be a quiche lorraine then, would it? A runny potion needed heat; he figured milk would be similar. He transferred it into a pan, turned on the heat and let it warm up. It boiled a lot quicker than he expected. He lowered the temperature and chose to add some flour. The results were encouraging.

“Budge up.” Harry slotted beside him and kissed his cheek, sliding another pan on the stove.

Draco lost himself in the moment, mixing the ingredients with a fork because he didn’t know what else to use, trying to avoid a milk tsunami and basking in Harry’s presence beside him. When the smell of grilled bacon wafted up his nose, his stomach reminded him that he’d better hurry. A quiche was yellow; that must mean eggs. He decided to add them one by one and stop when the colour seemed right. While Harry took the meat off the stove and excused himself for a bathroom break, Draco grabbed an egg and looked for a mortar and pestle. Potions rarely required bird eggs, but the few that did had unambiguous instructions that he intended on following. He didn’t find anything useful, and his milk was starting to be very thick, so he just broke the egg inside a bowl by tapping it repeatedly at the bottom (splashing himself in the process), then pulverised it with a wooden spatula. With a confident smirk, he dropped it into the milk, then repeated the motion with three more eggs.

The consistency of the milk was now liquid again. Draco could work with that. He added the grilled bacon, some salt and pepper, then heard footsteps behind him and turned around, winking at his boyfriend. “Get the dough ready; I’m almost done.”

The eggs were doing something weird. Maybe Draco shouldn’t have broken the shells? In potions, eggs ended up dissolving, but he didn’t think milk and flour had any property that could do that. It was getting quite lumpy.

It took a few minutes, but soon he was able to pour the hot mixture on the dough. It wasn’t smooth at all, which worried him a little. Harry was staring at it with a hand over his mouth. “Draco, it doesn’t look right,” he mumbled.

“Well, the stove wasn’t hot enough. It’ll be just fine in the oven.”

Now Harry was biting his lip and clasping his hands together. Draco shrugged; what did Harry know about French cuisine, anyway? “Is there something funny?” he asked, pushing the tart in the blazing hot oven.

Strong arms wrapped around his waist and warm lips kissed the back of his neck, sending delicious shivers down his spine. “Come on. We probably have a bit less than an hour, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Draco smirked, turned around and nuzzled Harry’s cheek. “Shower with me?”

“Since you asked...”

They kissed softly and headed to the bathroom, not letting go of each other. Draco left a trail of clothing, flour and egg behind him, and almost forgot to remove his socks because Harry’s mouth was _very_ distracting. And it became even more so when it latched onto Draco’s cock and proceeded to taste him as if Harry had never put anything so delectable on his tongue, letting him harden between his lips. Draco forgot his empty stomach. He could only focus on the sensations, on the glint in Harry’s gorgeous eyes as he glanced up at him, on the way his hair felt between his fingers. Then Harry let go with a pop, stood up and soaped up his hands to begin washing Draco’s body.

“You little tease,” Draco groaned. He washed Harry’s hair in return, then his shoulders, before wrapping his hand around his and Harry’s cocks, heavy and full, and pulling with that little twist of his wrist at the end. Harry let out a loud moan and kissed him.

Their hands moved up and down, slow and sweet, and there was more soap, more shampoo—because they forgot they’d already washed up—more kisses, too, and Harry shuddered against Draco’s chest. They stood under the hot stream of water for what felt like many long, blissful minutes. Eyes shut, Draco held him and let himself relax.

That peace was shattered, unfortunately, by an unearthly wail, and suddenly a decrepit house-elf appeared in the bathroom and squinted at them, Vanishing the shower curtain with a snap of his fingers. “What has Master done to Kreacher’s kitchen?”

Draco didn’t realise what he meant until he and Harry, still dripping wet and wearing sweatpants, followed him back to the kitchen.

“Master tells Kreacher to go and take a break, yes, says he doesn’t need Kreacher to survive, doesn’t listen to Kreacher. Never listens to Kreacher. Kreacher thought the beautiful Malfoy boy would know better, but Kreacher was wrong, so wrong. Kreacher is never listening to Master again. Kreacher does not need holidays, Kreacher is being healthy as a centaur, but Master won’t be if he eats that, no he won’t, Kreacher would never have let Mistress Cissa’s graceful son use the oven. Master is not knowing the danger.”

Draco’s left eye twitched, and he could’ve sworn Harry had chuckled. But then, there it was, in plain sight. The quiche had dripped and coated the bottom of the oven in a layer of crusty batter. Most of it was gone because the pastry had bubbled up so much that the clumpy liquid had oozed over the edges of the tray. Kreacher grumbled about the disgraceful use of kitchen appliances, and Harry cast a few scouring charms, to Draco’s indignation.

“What are you doing? You said human magic was terrible for food!”

Harry stopped, ruffled Draco’s hair (so what if he liked it?) and gave him a quick kiss. “You didn’t think I was going to let you eat that, right?”

“Why? What’s wrong with it?” Deep down, he already knew.

“Aside from boiling the milk and turning the dough into a weird paste? Eggshells. It’s not like potions, Draco. If you leave them in, they stay in.” Harry looped his arms around Draco’s waist. “There’s a French restaurant with quiche on the menu. I ordered some earlier.” Another kiss. “Don’t be mad at me. The milk was spoiled anyway. I was going to throw it out.”

Draco reared back. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s just—we were having fun. I enjoyed cooking with you.”

He couldn’t resist those eyes, so he squeezed Harry’s upper arms and let out a slow breath. “Promise me to be helpful if we do that again. You must’ve known better from the start.”

“I promise. We’ll make pizza; you can’t mess that up.”

Draco agreed quietly, but Kreacher didn’t, and he could hear him mumbling in the background. His stomach joined in with a squeaky rumble that sent both Draco and Harry in a fit of giggles, and Draco thought that maybe it wasn’t so bad to fail sometimes. As long as it brought a smile to Harry’s lips, Draco would enjoy it.

**Author's Note:**

> 🌻 This work is part of Fluff Fest, a Harry Potter-centered fest dedicated to fluffy themes, meet cutes and wholesome vibes.
> 
> If you’ve enjoyed this work, please show love and support to our precious content creators by leaving kudos and comments! 💌
> 
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